Always Running Back Again
by LaurenKate67
Summary: If you look closely at them, you can see they hadn't always know each other. They had separate lives, separate personalities. But being brought together in a war brings them together, telling each other the things needed to survive. Their past. Their future. The story of how 2 lives were brought together to destroy the robots. First chapter is the winner of TUp competition!


_Thanks so much to all who entered the competition, I know it's a bit late on the upload, but here it is! Well done ThoseSunsetEyes, and thanks so much to every other person who entered. _

He was a mess. He was the most cold-hearted, tough, battle-worthy Lieutenant in the Galactic League, but he was a mess.

Robots in the first war had forced him to join the Rangers at fourteen, and now, at twenty-one, having spent seven years doing nothing but eating, sleeping, training, fighting and killing, the G.L.E.E had turned him into the very thing he wanted to kill: a machine.

Machine. He spat out the word in his mind, loathing every single syllable. But it was what he was. Cold. Dead. No heart. And he wanted more than anything to just be liked, to be considered a kind person. But how could he do that if he was meant to be fearless? To love is to be vulnerable. He sighed- he didn't think he could be more like a robot if he tried.

"Lieutenant, sir?" an annoying, squeaking noise interrupted his thoughts, "Lieutenant Up! Uh, sir!"

"What?" He bellowed mouth before mind. He was back in the corridor where he'd been standing for dead-God knows how long. The dim grey light flooded his vision and he noticed the quivering private before him. He recognised him- Private Jenson. The young boy took a loud gulp before continuing.

"Uh, Commander Watson," he stuttered as he read from the piece of paper in his hand, "says, we have intercepted their signals and the robots are planning to strike in a new area on Earth, the co-ordinates have already been put into his Starship and you're going to be his Lieutenant whether you like it or not, and to meet him in Admiral West's office to speak about the mission. Uh, pronto. And if you aren't there he will, uh, drag you onto the Starship himself." He read the last few lines monotone, as if he knew that the Commander's words would be taken out on him. He was right.

"Fine. Just get out of my way, Private." The boy stood there for a few seconds; he couldn't believe he'd gotten off so lightly. "NOW!" Up shoved Jenson into the wall; on hearing a loud crunch, he stalked down the corridor to the Admiral's office, despite hearing several constrained sobs from the boy.

Boy. Up nearly laughed at himself as he thought about how he'd referred to Jenson. They were the same age- the G.L.E.E just didn't know it. Of course he wouldn't have been able to join at fourteen; even a universal war wouldn't allow for that. So he'd told them he was twenty, and the sorry souls that were what was left of the Galactic League then let him in. He was tall, strong, and mature for his age, but obviously not twenty. But the League was at war, losing soldiers by the minute, not really caring who they were as long as they killed some robots before they died. He was let in on a silent agreement that no one was to know about how young he was, and therefore how desperate the Galactic League was. So everyone thought he was twenty-seven- still young for a Lieutenant, but with time and age, the few people who'd known his true identity had died out, and twenty-seven had gotten more and more believable.

He scoffed at his reflection in the mirror-window of Admiral West's office. More like forty-seven, he thought. His hair, dark brown when he first joined, was now a depressing grey. It stuck up at all angles, not balding at all, but gauntly, disgustingly, grey. It nearly matched his skin tone: so marred with scars and grime from battles that no matter of scrubbing could get off. One particular scar pinched his left eyelids near closed, and the permanent expression of ferocity on his face meant his give-away ocean-blue eyes were nearly hidden. He threw himself a scowl and punched the open panel for the door.

As soon as the doors had slid open, Up saw both the Admiral and the Commander's heads turn to him guiltily; he'd obviously interrupted them talking about him. He exhaled gruffly and strode into the room anyway, taking a seat before West could offer him one. He sighed at the uncomfortable situation he was in.

"Admiral. Commander." He said shortly. Being professional was the only thing on his mind.

"Lieutenant Up," Commander Watson greeted him, trying to force a grim smile on him. "Admiral West and I were just planning out our route for mission C540 to Earth. The details will be delivered to your room." Up looked around the office wearily. It had grey walls, a grey ceiling, the rough excuse for a carpet was grey- even the chair he was sitting on was grey. He longed desperately for a tone of colour in his life- a spark of yellow, or green...or red.

He sighed and forced himself to listen as the conversation got more serious and Watson handed over to the Admiral. Up turned to face him, going back to grey.

"Up, these reoccurrences of robot attacks are worrying to say the least. On Earth alone there have been five reported ambushes over the last year that we've had to deal with. And these aren't just defects- old models that have connected to armed circuitry, but new, fully-programmed Autobots. Therefore the Galactic League has to consider that there could be someone behind this rearming." He took a slow, deep breath before he continued, "There could be another war." Up's eyes twitched back instinctively. War meant destruction, blood, and death of loved ones. But it also meant killing robots, and he didn't have anyone he loved, or who loved him.

"What's the mission's location?"

"Mexico."

"¡QUE VUELVAS, TU CABRÓN!" She chased after the idiota with murderous thoughts, her bare feet kicking dust up behind her. She couldn't stand wearing the shoes her mamá bought her; she wanted boots, but she couldn't afford them on her own, and in the heat her feet would be torn to shreds by the end of a day wearing them.

So she preferred bare feet, and at that moment it gave her an advantage. The boy in front of her slipped in his flat shoes and she caught up with him fast. She held him by his collar and dragged his face upwards with ease, despite his struggling. She fixed him with a look of vehemence before speaking very slowly. "Dónde...está?" The boy didn't answer. She growled, "Antonio-"

"¡No tengo lo!" She dropped Antonio and he hit the ground with a loud thud. She looked up and saw Pedro waving the book in his hand instead. She pushed off from the ground and sprinted after him, not stopping until he reached a tall winding tree, and threw the book high into its knot of branches.

She snarled at him and he smirked, walking towards her as Antonio joined him.

"Oh, no!" He put on an American accent, "What's the poor little girl going to do without her story book?" He circled her, looking down on her as she balled her hands into fists, "¿Eres una niña, Taz? Una. Pequeña. Niña?" Taz felt smaller and smaller with each word. And she couldn't be that: weak, small- no, she wasn't that. She strode towards the tree but turned back just as she reached it.

"No," she said to Pedro, "pero eres."

With that she jumped and curled her hands around a low branch before hoisting herself onto the next, and the next, the flimsy branches not sagging with her weight at all. Back on the ground, Pedro and Antonio could only stand and watch, agape as she disappeared behind the leaves. There was silence for a moment, then a high-pitched battle cry, and Taz landed on top of Pedro. Holding her newly retrieved book between her teeth, she used both hands to hit him over and over again, eliciting girly shrieks from the boy. Every punch she gave him expressed the words she hurled at him,

"NUNCA. ME. LLAMAS. PEQUEÑA. ¡NUNCA!" She was interrupted only when her mamá opened their front door and called out,

"TAZ-" She clamped her hands over her ears; Taz hated her real name. "¡VAMOS! ¡AHORA!" She groaned and got up slowly, walking back to the house.

"Te divertes con tus vestidos de quinceañera, Taz." The boy just didn't know when to stop. She span around and fixed him with a death glare, and his eyes widened as she strode back to him. Just as he put his hands up in surrender, she punched him right in the nose.

"TAZ-!"

Up grunted grumpily as he pulled his grey Lieutenant's baselayer over his head and rammed two hand-zappers into his belt. He wasn't supposed to have them until the weaponry room, but he honestly didn't care. It also made him feel weaker leaving his weapons in another room across the other side of the base. Finally he fixed his black headband so it covered most of his forehead and walked out of his room.

Just the sound of his boots echoing down the corridors was enough to scare inferiors into doorways or back the way they came. No one wanted to cross him. On the surface, Up smirked at their petty weakness, but inside, he hated what a terrifying machine he'd become.

When he reached the briefing room, he was just about ready to break down inside, and just about ready to punch someone on the outside. When the doors slid open before him he heard the collective breath being held by the rest of the squad, and a low sigh from Watson. Up walked slowly over to him and nodded in greeting, then turned to face the eight or so wide-eyes privates and ensigns.

"Yes, and now Lieutenant Up will give you a few words about the mission," he heard Watson say apprehensively. Up looked to him and the Commander gave him a pleading look. Pathetic. Up took a few steps forward and glared at each member of the squad.

"You've all been trained for war," he heard Watson give a strangled cough of surprise- he wasn't supposed to mention that, "and most of you have been on clear-up missions to sort out the robot scum still down there on Earth. But none of you have been there for the real thing, the real brutality of it all. None of you have had to stand there while your team mates are murdered, just because you've vowed to commit to the mission, and not to side-track. And none of you ARE PREPARED TO DIE FOR THAT PLANET'S SAFETY!" Ensigns shrunk back into their seats and privates hung their heads low, "So I'm telling you now, that if you aren't committed to getting the dead-God damn job done, then there'll be hell to pay. That's right: if you don't go out there and die for something, then I'll kill you for nothing." Up stepped back next to Watson and he cleared his throat.

"Yes, well thank you Lieutenant Up." He said wearily. "Now, all of you step into weaponry and get your zappers. Oh, and make sure they're turned off." Watson rolled his eyes at the squad as they filed out. Up watched them. At least they got to wear camouflage, some colour. He looked round to find the Commander shaking his head at him.

"Up, you've been told not to use that phrase anymore. We've had several accounts of ensigns trying to get themselves injured just so you won't 'kill them for nothing'. Plus, you're going to get yourself demoted if you keep giving away the G.L.E.E's top secret information." He sighed and awkwardly put his hand on Up's shoulder. Up looked at it angrily. "Look, Up, it's not all about the work you know. You need to go out and...socialise. Find some people to hang around with, have a good time." Up violently shook off his hand and smirked at his Commander.

"With all due respect, Commander, I hardly think this mission to Mexico is a good time to find friends."


End file.
